


Days

by misbegotten



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, WIP, fragments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Do you know what it is to be a lover?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursday

It is a Thursday when Ariadne comes back to her apartment to find Arthur sitting at the tiny table that serves for eating and everything else that requires a hard surface. He's drinking espresso made from the fancy machine she bought with her ill-gotten gains, and looks entirely at home. He's sporting several days worth of beard, and is dressed in a double-breasted Brioni that's seen better days.

"You need a better lock," he observes, and she sighs.

"I don't have anything worth stealing, unless you count the coffee maker."

He places the espresso cup daintily on the saucer and winks. "You're still living below your means."

"I'm a poor graduate student." She shrugs. "And frugal."

"Ah," Arthur grins. "Frugal."

So she's hoarding the money wrought from Sato. For a rainy day. It could start raining like a bitch any second now that Arthur's back.

"Are you staying?" she asks, feeling the need to clarify. He points with his toe to two bags stashed behind her couch, and she feels foolish that she didn't notice them. Arthur makes her stupid, always upsetting her equilibrium.

He's up from the table by the time she reaches him, and she slides into his arms easily. "You need a shower," she says, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of his suit. "And a shave."

"I thought you might like the bohemian look," he says, rubbing his beard against her cheek, and she pushes him away with a chuckle.

"You look worse than Eames. Shave. Then shower. If you're good I might wash your back."

She putters around the apartment while he de-hirsutes himself with the razor in the left hand drawer, next to the toothpaste he prefers. She can't remember when he began insinuating himself into her apartment, and for a moment she hefts her totem in her hand, tracing the gentle curve of the bishop's head before putting it back in her pocket and returning to picking up dirty clothes. Arthur whistles just before the sound of the shower starts, and she strips off her top, dropping it in the pile of clothes she's been making. Pants follow, and undergarments, and she slips into the shower behind him, trying to dodge the little splashes of water that splatter off him.

There are bruises along his left side, punch marks fading into yellowish-green reminders of a beating. She spins him with a hand, and sees a half-healed pucker of skin on his shoulder. "Bullet?" she asks, trying not to sound concerned.

"Knife," he corrects her, dismissing it with a shrug. "It's fine."

This dance they do, where the superficial meets the hard edges of reality, is as much a shared dream as that induced by the PASIV.

Ariadne dries her hair with a towel while Arthur fishes his grey silk robe out of her closet. She wraps another towel loosely about herself, and turns to meet his kiss.

They make love on the bed, a slow burn of passion that turns frantic as they near completion. She pulls him up for a messy kiss as she tips over the edge, his fingers inside her, and later he bites down hard on her shoulder as he comes. The mark will fade, she knows, faster than his bruises. In the aftermath she twines her fingers through his and slides the sheet over, letting it fall into a cloud around them both.

"You're staying, right?" she asks, drowsy.

"Yes," he reassures her, and pulls her closer to him.


	2. Friday

Classes seem dull now, but she's determined to finish her degree. It seems important to have something she can show to her parents, since her bank balance is hardly something they can brag about, even if they knew.

It is a Friday when she turns in her final paper, her final homage to higher academia. She can move on with a clear conscience, now. Immerse herself in creation through dream-weaving. Arthur already has a job lined up, of course.

It's an easy one, and they celebrate with takeout curry and lovemaking on the couch. Afterwards, Arthur unearths a small gift bag and hands it to her almost shyly. "A graduation present," he offers, and she smiles as she unwraps a Mont Blanc Meisterstück 149 pen.

"It's beautiful," she assures him, balancing the firm edge of the casing between her fingers. It's solid and heavy in her hand, like a totem. It's perfect.


End file.
